Family Portrait
by White.Rose42
Summary: Loosely based off P!nk's "Family Portrait". A young teenager has been growing up in a abusive household for the majority of her life, which has led for her to be reserved and cold. After a dispute with some classmates, a talk with the Class President might actually be worth her time. Warning: Slight mentions of abuse.


**So, I know I haven't been on in a while. And I can see that the authors I've been with are gone, maybe. But I just wanted to share this one-shot I randomly wrote, then typed up. It would make me feel better to know that I left with a big impact. This is unedited, btw.**

**x.x.x.x**

"_I hate you, bitch!"_

"_Yeah? Well, I hope you fucking die in the deepest pit known to man! I don't know why I agreed to marry you in the first place!"_

"_Same here! I don't know why I haven't killed you yet!"_

If I were younger, I would be crying in my room right now, trying to hide from my parents. I would cover my ears-I'd also scream if I were a toddler-and I would prepare myself for when they found me. When they would find me, they would abuse me until they got their anger out. Burn my skin, beat me with a leather belt, strangle me, cut my skin with a butcher knife. And in the morning, I would be coming up with some stupid, implausible excuse to explain the scars, marks, and bruises.

But I'm not young anymore.

At the age of sixteen, I already had my fair share of abuse. I've been mangled, torn, and broken for thirteen years now; I no longer feel pain. Physical, emotional, mental, and all the other forms of pain one could experience. The scars on my body were living proof of everything I've been through, and I was partially glad they were fading due to my tan skin. Only partially because looking at each scar sometimes brought me back to the past, making me relive each abusive night.

I closed my eyes, shook my head, and let go of all those moments. I wouldn't resent my parents because they mistreated me. Instead, I fought them back. Each bruise they gave me, two was given to them-one of each parent. I started to revolt against them when I was fourteen, and we all came out with new bruises and scars in the end. Sometimes they had more than me, sometimes I had more than them. It didn't really matter who had the most because mine were starting to fade. My caramel skin did more than enough to make the scars blend in, but I couldn't say the same for my parents. They had lighter skin, so _all_ of their marks were visible. Served them right.

The part I didn't necessarily agree with, though, was taking family portrait. They make me feel as if the three of us were actually a part of some ideal family. With each individual blemish covered by either makeup or an article of clothing, nobody could tell that we were an abusive household. Along with the smiles we wore on our faces, it was impossible to know about the tension in the house. Looking at the pictures over the years only made me feel worse because I knew it was just some facade we put up. And I wondered how others would see us if they knew the truth...

Tonight, I wasn't trying to get caught up in their bullshit. I just wanted an abuse-free night, a night where I could sleep peacefully. Just to make sure that happened, I barricaded my room door with my dressers, I locked the windows in my room, and I put some pillows and covers in the closet. I needed to make sure I was safe from them. Now, I wasn't afraid of my parents. Why should I be? My father is a deadbeat who _thinks_ he's some macho guy despite his scrawny frame, and my mother is a housewife that can't do anything except open her legs. Compared to me, a young woman who spends most of her afternoons at the boxing gym, they didn't stand a chance. They should've been afraid of me.

And yet, for some unknown reason, they always started fights with me every night. Did they not know that I was only getting stronger by the day? If they did, they sure as hell didn't show it because they wouldn't have banged on my door tonight.

**x.x.x.x**

"... But sometimes I wish my father showed more affection to me. He's always busy with work, and he never thinks about me or my mother..." I couldn't stand by Human Relations class. Everyday, they asked us about our parents and they forced us to share our familial status. Of course, I never shared my personal information, but it pissed me off to hear the stupid reasons of why some of the students couldn't stand their parents.

Like now. "Miss Aubrey", as she wanted people to call her, is always bitching about how her father never has time for her. I thought it was the dumbest thing to complain about, especially since her father is the CEO of Central Enterprises, the biggest company, joint-stock, finance-thing in the town. It's only natural that he wouldn't be able to spend too much time with her since he has a business to run.

I finally decided to say something, and I didn't care that she was still talking. "Why don't we listen to someone with _actual_ family problems? Honestly, the whole my-father-is-so-busy-and-never-has-time-for-me story is about the most selfish thing I've ever heard."

"Selfish? Before you start criticizing my stories, why don't you share one of your own," she challenged. I stared her down, not wanting to back down but ultimately knowing that I had to. Mostly because nobody needed to know too much about me or my family.

"Tsk..." I looked away, crossing my arms over my chest. I knew she had a smug look on her face, so I told myself not to look at her. If I did that, I might've hit her.

"Yeah, Emilia, why don't you share something," Bodie suggested. "You don't really say anything in this class."

'_That's because you guys don't need to know shit.' _"And? So what if I don't?"

"You're gonna fail the class," Dare piped in. Everyone else started joining in, and I wanted for them to shut up. They were talking as if they knew my life story, which they didn't. And whether I told them or not was none of their business.

Eventually, I got sick of their nonsense. I stood up and headed for the door. "I'm done with this stupid ass class! I might as well just fail because I'm not going to share anything!"

I didn't actually expect for me to walk out of the class, but I did. And I didn't expect for me to break down in the hallway, but I also did that. Most importantly, I didn't expect for anyone to walk up to me. As I cried on the bench, I felt a hand on my shoulder. I looked back to see Lima, the class president, giving me a soft smile. Here we go...

"What," I snarled. I quickly rubbed my eyes, trying to hide the tears the stained into my cheeks. It was too late because she already saw me crying, but I wasn't trying to look more vulnerable than I already did.

"Let's talk. You look like you need some comfort."

"The only thing I _need_ is to be left alone." I started walking away, heading nowhere in specific. Lima was the _last_ person I wanted to talk to. As the class president, she thought her shit didn't stink and that she could offer help to anyone and they would be happy-

"And what has being alone done for you, except make you more miserable?"

I froze. Either she could read me like a picture book, or she was using intuition. Either way, it irritated me that she could pick up on my situation.

She must've noticed me stiffen because she repeated herself. "What has being alone done for you?" Her tone became more assertive, like she was commanding something. "Exactly, nothing. So, let's talk."

**x.x.x.x**

"_How do you keep your house so orderly?"_

"_Well, we just try to keep a stable environment. The best way to do that is to start in the home. Everything is cleaned daily, so there's never a mess."_

I thought about how much they were lying. The only time they clean up is when they know company's coming. They give themselves five hours to clean the house to make it what people want to see. Otherwise, it stays a mess. I can't remember how many times I stepped on broken glass from a picture frame or a vase (and how many times I had to take it out myself).

Tonight was the annual get-together, and guess whose house was chosen to host it? Just my luck because maybe I would have an abuse-free night. With all the people coming over, my parents wouldn't have time to worry about me. Good, I didn't plan on staying anyways. I planned on going to the boxing gym to let off some steam. That and I needed to practice for my boxing match in three days. I was boxing against the second ranked person in the world-Junior Welterweight class-and I needed to be ready for it. According to my sources, she was previously a Middleweight. Either it was getting too tough for her or she wanted to pick on those who weighed less than her; she lost a little over twenty pounds just to meet the weight requirements. Didn't matter because I was going to whoop her ass anyways.

"_Not everyone may be going through the same situation as you, but you have to give them a chance to understand where you're coming from before you judge them."_

Lima's words echoed in my mind as I pounded away at the sandbag. I knew she was right, but I didn't want to admit it yet. Mostly because it would mean exploiting my vulnerabilities. Damn, I hated talking about those. I especially hated it when Lima forced me to talk about them. There's something about her that made me tell her... well, _everything_. I don't know why, but I suddenly found myself spilling the beans to Lima. I told her events that occurred as far back as grade school, and even things as recent as my parents holding me down and burning me with the iron just five days ago. I've never really known how it was to be loved, I'll admit it, but I've tried not to have it bother me. That would be too much of a burden for me to carry. That's when she responded. She was patient with me, understanding even, and she wasn't biased at all. It was like she understood me, the real me.

I stopped hitting the sandbag. Yeah, she did understand me. If I didn't know any better, I'd say that she knew exactly where I was coming from. That put a smile on my face. Ms. Perfect had some flaws to her after all, but it wasn't like I was looking for them. I felt a little more comfortable in knowing that I wasn't alone, at least for now.

I wasn't too sure where this was going to lead, but I had the slightest feeling that Lima would be in my Human Relations class tomorrow. And it unnerved me to know that I would be sharing to the class then.

But before then, I would like to talk to Lima again. Alone.


End file.
